


Less is More

by WandererRiha



Series: Benign [2]
Category: NieR: Automata (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Brothers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, YoRHa Boys - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:07:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26489911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WandererRiha/pseuds/WandererRiha
Summary: 11S is having trouble adjusting to civilian life. His brothers get him something to help him cope.
Series: Benign [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1917346
Comments: 10
Kudos: 23





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Set slightly before-and-during "Fallen Idol".

The Scanner Model No.9 was considered the most advanced of the scanner presets, beautifully balanced for both surveillance as well as combat. The Scanner Model No.3, being an earlier version, had almost no combat capabilities, but was considered the most powerful hacker in his class. Scanner Model No.11, being a subsequent version, was a decent balance of both, but designed to be more cautious. The primary trait of a Scanner- curiosity- had proved to be something of a double-edged sword for command.

11S had been in charge of the Primary Earth Defense Barrier, a commanding officer with subordinates. All communications had been cut off and never reestablished after the battle with the machine sea monster, Grun. The bunker and communications had been flooded, half the staff drowned, including 11S. It was months before anyone could fish for survivors.

Although the salt water hadn’t done them any favors, a surprising number of personnel were revived once they’d had a chance to dry off. A Scanner’s body, however, housed much more delicate, more intricate parts than an average android. When 11S finally came to, although his brothers were happy to have him with them again, something seemed...off.

\--

He couldn’t read anymore. 11S had tried, repeatedly, but the letters tumbled into one another, becoming little more than gibberish to his brain. The red-haired ladies at the Resistance camp had told him some of his mental circuits had been corroded by the salt water, but assured him he would be perfectly functional. Except, apparently, not. Admittedly no one _needed_ him to man the Primary Earth Defense Barrier, but he would have liked to pull and save whatever data he could from the server. Except he couldn’t. Because he couldn’t freaking _read_.

In the end, he told his brothers that the task was too complex to handle alone. 9S wound up doing the lion’s share of the work, but didn’t seem to mind. 32S stopped by a few times to lend a hand as well. 11S didn’t stay to help, just slunk back to the Resistance camp to nurse his tattered pride.

4S asked if he would like to help catalog the various books and artifacts in the Forest Castle library. 11S almost burst into tears on the spot. He tried to beg off, insisting he couldn’t make sense of the ancient languages. Desperate for help, 4S suggested he simply organize and catalog whatever had already been identified. Hoping perhaps he could manage that much, 11S agreed. For some reason numbers weren’t as hard, but more than a few of them at once made his head ache. While 4S was buried in a book, he made his escape, not wanting to know if he’d shelved the volumes correctly or not.

That wasn’t the only thing wrong with him. Despite what the others might insist, 11S knew they could see it too. He wasn’t the same as he’d been before the attack. Although he’d gone to the twins multiple times for repairs, nothing they did seemed to help. Had the Bunker still been in orbit, it would have been a small matter to simply have his memories uploaded to a new body that could still read and write and think straight. But the Bunker was gone, which meant he was stuck like this: useless and stupid. It was fitting his nickname was “Les”. He certainly felt as if he were the least of his brothers.

32S didn’t judge him, neither did his ‘father’, Ian. 11S sat still while 32S hacked him, knowing he wouldn’t like the answer, but hoping a fellow Scanner would have some insight as to how to fix him. The silence stretched long and uncomfortable until 11S couldn’t stand it anymore.

“....so?” he asked.

32S’ lips were pressed together in a thin line, his expression somewhere between perplexed and apologetic.

“Devola and Popola were right, your circuitry was damaged by the salt water. I’m talking your hacking mechanism, your processor, your analysis centers... Les, I dunno that we can fix this.”

He nodded, feeling his insides sink. “Yeah. I kinda thought maybe. Thanks for looking, though.”

“I guess the good news is, you’re doing okay despite it. Other systems picking up the slack and stuff.”

“Yeah,” 11S agreed tonelessly. “Sure.”

\--

The storage area was one of precious few places 11S could go for peace and quiet. He loved his brothers, but all of them were still adjusting to...well...everything. They didn’t have time for his petty problems. 42S had lost a baby for cryin’ out loud. Not being able to brain properly felt shallow and selfish by comparison. They tried to be helpful, he knew they loved him, but sometimes their good intentions became too much to suffer. A soldier had his pride. So he hid. YoRHa units were small, Scanners even smaller, and when he curled up in a corner to silently vent his frustrations, he was barely as large as one of the storage crates.

That was how he came to know the storage guy. If the man had ever given his name, it had not impressed itself in 11S’ memory. The Resistance member had stumbled across 11S’ hiding place, offering him a faded bandanna to dry his tears, and a hand up.

“Wanna help me organize this stuff, kid?”

Kid. Like what Ian called 32S; the same tone and inflection. He wasn’t being talked down to, not this time. The word came off as familiarity and not a diminutive, and so 11S had nodded, mopped his face, and let the taller android pull him to his feet.

It was...nice. Nice to feel useful. Nice to not have someone constantly bringing up the good old days- the days when he could still think, when he had a server and soldiers under his command. That’s right, he’d been a CO. He’d almost forgotten. There had been a time when he knew the whole of the base, the server, the quirks and habits of most of his personnel inside and out. Now...most of them were gone, along with his ability to do his old job. Maybe it was just as well it no longer existed.

Pusher- that was the storage manager’s nickname- was like Ian. Kind, quiet, and never angry. He didn’t mind if 11S asked him the same thing more than once, didn’t get upset if 11S forgot something. 11S loved him at once for his patience alone, was sorry when there were no more boxes to arrange or items to pack.

“Hey kid, you got someplace to sleep?” Pusher asked him when their work was done.

11S shrugged. He’d been curling up in odd corners of the Resistance camp where he was unlikely to be tripped on or bother anyone.

“Ain’t you one a’ them YoRHa Scanners? Don’t your brothers take care of you?”

That hurt. “It’s not their job to take care of me,” 11S said, caught somewhere between defensive and vindictive. “They don’t like me like this.”

Pusher looked at him funny. “What d’you mean ‘like this’?”

11S looked away. “Never mind.”

“Well, their loss. They’re missin’ out on a good hard worker. You wanna crash here tonight, you can. I got some extra blankets. Up to you, though.”

For some reason, the fact that Pusher had left it his choice rather than made it a command made 11S love him all the more. He nodded and accepted the dusty blanket from the corner of the tent. Pusher shook it out for him and folded it into a bedroll. He thumped 11S’ shoulder affectionately before lying down to sleep himself. It was all 11S could do to keep from breaking down. Instead, he curled up in the scratchy wool without a word.

“G’night kid.”

“...g’night.”


	2. Chapter 2

It was the first time in a long time 11S felt useful. For a while, he forgot he was no longer commander of the Primary Earth Defense Barrier. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t read. Nothing needed to be hacked or scanned, no one asked him if he remembered something, or needed him to help them wade through trauma. It was just him and Pusher, putting things away, bringing order to chaos. It felt good.

“Say kid,” Pusher asked him a few days later. 11S has not left the storage area. Pusher seemed happy to have him and 11S didn’t want to lose what he’d found there: a sense of purpose and belonging.

“You got a name?”

“My brothers call me ‘Les’. Short for ‘11S’. You can too if you want.”

Pusher grinned. “Less is more, right?”

11S didn’t get the joke, but he returned Pusher’s crooked smile and offered fist bump.

“Gotta get you an apron or somethin’,” Pusher went on. “An’ maybe some knee pads. Gonna wreck that fancy uniform of yours.”

11S shrugged. At this point, he would be happy to put his old YoRHa uniform away and never look at it again. Maybe given enough time, he would forget it too.

“Yeah, okay.”

—

11S became Pusher’s apprentice. 11S loved his new job, his new place in the world, the boss-dad-older brother that Pusher had become to him. What he didn’t love was how someone kept trashing the stock rooms when he and Pusher weren’t there.

There were several different locations throughout the city where supplies were stored. This made sense from a tactical perspective, but with only two people to track and stock supplies, 11S could see the obvious holes in the current setup.

“Who’s doing this?” 11S grumbled as he and Pusher sorted through a pile of open crates, the contents of which had been strewn all over.

“Probably my supervisor,” Pusher sighed. “She’s in charge, so she just barges in and takes what she wants. At least she marks it in the log book, but she never bothers to put anything away.”

“That’s no way to lead by example.”

Pusher laughed, a loud hearty guffaw that made 11S want to laugh too instead of shrink and hide because he’d inadvertently said something stupid.

“Son, if anyone were to follow her example, the camp’d been blown sky high ages ago!”

For some reason, that made 11S grin.

The following day, however, he didn’t smile much. It seemed Jackass had been looking for something specific and hadn’t found it. She’d torn through every storage space, leaving the contents of dozens of opened boxes behind her.

Both he and Pusher were exhausted till the end of the day. Pusher morose and 11S quietly fuming, they made their way back to their tent at the resistance camp. The sight of crates spilling out of the stock room door, their contents scattered, made 11S’ vision stain red.

“Hey!” he shouted, marching into the stock room, bristling with rage. “What do you think you’re doing?! You can’t just tear the place apart and throw stuff all over the floor! Do you know how hard we worked to clean up this mess? _Do you know how long it took?!_ ”

The interloper- a tall woman in desert fatigues and a cloak- turned and stared at him in naked shock.

“IT TOOK NINE POINT FIVE HOURS!” 11S raged, feeling himself slip back into Commander mode. “Who the hell gave you permission? Where’s your requisition forms? _I should have you court martialed for theft!_ ”

“Kid…” Pusher's voice was low and pleading, tinged with fear. 11S became distantly aware that the entire camp was staring at them. “That’s my supervisor. That’s Jackass.”

“Her name suits her,” 11S’ mouth said before his brain could intervene. Some more sensible part of him whispered that he ought to either run or prepare for death. Ignoring it, he stood his ground. Abruptly, Jackass burst out laughing.

It took her a solid minute to stop, by which point 11S’ anger had soured to indignation. Face burning and eyes stinging, he forced himself to keep his eyes on Jackass’ face. When she finally stopped, doubled over and gasping for air, he crossed his arms and scowled.

“Are you finished?”

She just stared at him.

“I expect you to follow procedure next time,” 11S told her, as if she were the unruly subordinate, and he the commanding officer. “You want something, you ask us. Requisition forms will be filled out or you get nothing. The locks will be changed so you can’t break in. Nothing comes out of supply storage without our approval first. Understood?”

Jackass straightened and grinned.

“Damn, you YoRHa units got balls! Never had anyone chew me out for wrecking my own storage rooms before. Yeah okay, squirt. I’ll let you get the parts for me next time. Should be less of a pain than digging for ‘em myself. You can handle inventory from now on. See if you can’t find some balls for this guy while you’re at it.” She jerked her thumb at Pusher before waltzing out the gate.

Pusher sank down on one of the crates with a shaky sigh. “Holy shit kid, I was afraid she was gonna eat you alive!”

11S snorted, eyeing Jackass’ retreating figure. “Rude. I don’t even have balls. Inappropriate much? Geeze.”

Pusher coughed, thumping his chest with one hand. “Yeah, TMI there kid. C’mon. I’ll show you how to tally the ledger.”

Reality hit 11S with the force of a freefalling brick; all his faults and shortcomings crashing into him, making him stagger where he stood. He was not a commander, not any more. He had no bunker, no troops, not even a functional brain.

“Kid?” Pusher reached and grabbed 11S’ arm to keep him on his feet.

11S struggled to beat back the horrible feeling welling up inside him, but it could not be stopped. Tears, hot and shameful, flooded his eyes and he covered his face with both hands.

“Whoa, hey!” Pusher gathered him in his arms and held him close. “I know she’s scary but she ain’t that bad. I promise her bark’s way worse than her bite.”

11S looked up at him, blinking past tears. Pusher smiled kindly and stroked a hand over his hair. For some reason that just made 11S cry harder.

“Hey, hey c’mon,” Pusher patted his back and rocked him a little. “S’alright. It’ll be okay.”

“No I won’t,” 11S mumbled into Pusher’s apron. “I can’t read.”

Pusher paused to look down at him, features slanted in bemused concern. Unable to hold his secret any longer, 11S broke down, the whole disjointed story tumbling out.

“Shit kid,” Pusher murmured, if anything holding him more protectively, “you shoulda said something right off. I’d a’ helped you. _Will_ help you. It’s okay, we can fix this. We’ll figure it out.”

“I can’t be fixed,” 11S mumbled miserably. “Not without replacing my whole stupid head.”

“You got a good head on your shoulders,” Pusher told him. “Nothin’ wrong with your wits or your common sense. You got a memory most folks’d kill for. You’re not dumb, kid. Don’t ever let anyone tell you different. You just need a little help, that’s all.”

“Like what?”

Pusher looked at him long and hard. “Seems to me you’re missing somethin’. Don’t you YoRHa types usually come with a pod?”


	3. Chapter 3

Contrary to popular belief, most YoRHa units did not come equipped with pods. Usually only those being sent behind enemy lines or into active combat were provided with a pod for backup. As commander of the Primary Earth Defense Barrier, 11S had never been issued a pod. He’d had any entire bunker of subordinates, he hadn’t needed one.

But now he did.

Where all the unassigned pods were hiding, no one knew. It was one of the things to look up if ever contact was restored with the moon server. Since it was unlikely there was an active pod with no owner floating around, the only alternative was to try to scavenge a busted one. 9S and his wife 2B had each found an extra pod during their adventures; one in the desert, and one not far from the flooded defense barrier. But without a pod with which to fish or scan, 11S would have to search the old fashioned way.

All his spare moments were spent attempting to track down a pod for himself. Yes, he could have asked his brothers for help, but 11S couldn’t bear to have them know the full extent of his damage. They had enough to deal with. He didn’t want their pity, even if he did need their help.

“Any luck?” Pusher asked him upon return from another fruitless search.

“No,” 11S sighed and fell face-first onto his bedroll, a pile of sand and dust puffing around him on impact.

“Why don’t you ask those brothers of yours? I’m sure they’d help you.”

“ _No._ ” The word came out harsher, more angry than intended. “No,” he said again, forcing calm into his tone so that it came out flat and empty. “They’d want to know why, and I don’t want to tell them. They already know I’m defective. They don’t need to know how badly.”

“Hey Genius! Useless!”

11S groaned and turned over, recognizing his employer’s voice. “What do you want now, Jackass?”

“Is that any way to speak to your boss?”

“Suck it.”

“Can’t. You ain’t got none.”

11S snorted and dragged himself up to a sitting position. Talking trash was a learned skill, but he liked to think he was getting the hang of it. Still, there were limits. “Can we leave my non-existent nether regions out of this?”

“Hey you started it.”

“What’s up?”

“Got a list for you.” She paused. “I don’t need this shit right away. Have it for me tomorrow, alright?”

“Yeah, sure.” 11S took the list and waited until she had wandered off before handing it to Pusher. “How much TNT does she want this time?”

Pusher snorted and tucked the list inside his pocket.

—

“Hey, YoRHa.”

9S looked up from the data he’d been scrolling through.

“Oh hey Jackass. Can I help you?”

“Need to talk to you. In private.”

“Uh, okay…” closing the screens, he stood and led the way into his house.

“Cute place. Minimalist. I like it.”

“What’s this about?” 9S asked.

“Your brother needs the rest of you to get your heads outta your asses and help him.”

9S was perplexed. “You’re gonna have to be more specific.”

“11S. His circuitry got damaged from all that salt water. He needs a pod to compensate. You need to find him one.”

“Alright,” 9S said blankly. “Did he tell you all this himself?”

“Nah, overheard him cryin’ to my former stock manager. So you’re not gonna let slip I told you.”

“Why didn’t he just come to us directly?”

“Cause you treat him like a baby. How’d you like going from commanding your own bunker to struggling to put two words together?”

“I hadn’t thought of it like that…”

“Hell of a demotion, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“That commander’s still in there. You saw him read me my rights. He doesn’t need pity, he needs support from his fellow soldiers.”

9S nodded slowly. “Yeah. Okay. Thanks.”

\--

Pusher continued to monitor the ledger, marking items going in and out as necessary. Instead, 11S did most of the leg work, organizing boxes and putting things away. It was all typed, so it wasn’t as if he had to worry about Jackass examining handwriting. Not, he suspected, that she ever looked at the books. So the secret of his ignorance remained between Pusher and himself.

“Hey Genius!” Jackass called from outside. With a sigh, 11S let off his organizing and went to see what she wanted.

“What?”

“Package for you.” She shoved a box at him and then turned and walked away.

11S blinked after her, unsure what that had been about. Looking down at the box, he noticed there was a scrap of paper attached. There were letters printed on it, but hell if he could decipher them. On the verge of asking Pusher to read it to him, something else caught his eye: a clearly printed “1” on the box and “2” on the paper. Evidently he was supposed to open the box first. Setting it down, he pried off the lid and rummaged around in the soft excelsior of packing material. His fingers met something smooth and metallic. Another box? He lifted it out and felt his jaw drop.

“Pod 867 reporting to Unit 11S. Greetings, 11S.”

A pod. Someone had sent him a pod.

“Alert: This pod has been tasked with a pre-established mission. Pod 876 is to deliver the corresponding message attached to this gift. Proposal: Open envelope and initiate scan.”

Not knowing what else to do, 11S let go of the pod and unfolded the bit of paper. Pod 876 drifted closer, a small beam of light flickering from her outlook lens to scan the paper.

“Initiating Scan. Scan Complete. Begin message: _‘Dear Les. We couldn’t help but notice you were the only combat-equipped scanner without a pod. That didn’t seem fair, so we found you a pod without an owner. We hope she will make things easier on you. Sorry for being so dense. Love, your brothers: 9S, 4S, 32S, and 42S.’_ End message.”

11S swallowed hard, fighting back the irrational urge to cry. Some part of him was hurt and angry, his pride wounded by the fact that they must have somehow learned about his defect. But instead of trying to smother him with care and kindness that he didn’t need...they’d sent him the very thing he needed most: something that would give him the help he needed so he wouldn’t have to beg it from others.

“Query: Will there be a reply?”

Smiling past the tears that had come anyway, he reached and patted the pod’s plating with one hand.

“Yeah. _‘Thanks’._ ”


End file.
